Tag Archives: DACA

In the aftermath of President Donald Trump’s Sept. 5 announcement to terminate Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, local Omaha DACA recipients, former DACA recipients, and applicants to DACA shared their stories with Omaha Magazine.

Luisa Trujillo Estrada, 28

My name is Luisa Trujillo Estrada. I was born in Mexico—Michoacan. I came to the U.S. when I was 10 years old, so I’ve been here—it is going to be 18 years in February. I’ve been here for a long time.

What is your immigration status?

Right now, currently, I am a DACA recipient. I actually am engaged, my fiancé, he is a wonderful man. He is born and raised in the U.S. so he is a citizen. When the decision about DACA came, when it was announced about two weeks ago, we didn’t really know what to expect because we had a certain plan. We got engaged back in February, so our plans kind of changed whether to get married now, should we wait until May how we had planned? I just renewed my DACA, so we are going to continue with that right now. So, currently, I am a DACA recipient.

What does DACA mean to you?

DACA, to me, means opportunities. It means being able to run out of the shadows and just trying to have a better life for yourself and for your family. It means the American Dream, like what everyone that comes to the U.S. wants, the “American Dream.” Just having a better life, having better opportunities, whether it is education, job, living. Many other countries are very poor, the conditions, or whether it’s the politics or whatnot, so many reasons why people come to the U.S. So, just having those opportunities, better opportunities than we probably didn’t have before. And just making sure that we leave a legacy for our children of a better life and better opportunities.

What does it mean to be a Dreamer in Omaha?

It goes along with wanting a better life for yourself. I guess I could speak for myself, to me being a Dreamer means wanting a better life for myself, for my mom, showing her that everything she did to bring us here to the U.S. was worth it. I actually didn’t want to come to the U.S. I actually had made a deal with my mom and said, well, we’re only going to go there for six months, because I didn’t want to come. I was so little I really didn’t understand the situation, or why she was making that decision. So, she agreed to six months, and now it’s going to be 18 years. Now that I am older and I understand all the struggles, everything that she went through, it means showing her that everything that she went through, it was worth it because now I can say I have a good job, I went to school, high school and college, and I am always looking for better opportunities for myself, but also for her.

How is Omaha part of your identity?

It is basically everything that I am. A lot of people from my country, a lot of my family, when they ask me how long have you been in the U.S.? I tell them it’s going to be 18 years, that is more than half of my life. It is double more than half of my life. That is basically everything that I am, everything that I have learned through elementary school, middle school, high school, college, and in the workforce, now working in human resources. Everything that I am as a person is Omaha. From the environment, to my friends, family-wise it is only my mom, my sister, my niece, and two uncles, and that’s it. I really don’t have any more family. A lot of people have big families, but I don’t, so to me Omaha is the place where I was raised. I wasn’t born here, but I was raised here and it is me, basically, it is where I belong.

With the termination of DACA, what are your concerns about the future?

Some of my fears, now with the new decision in regards to DACA, are…Thankfully, thank God I have a way to citizenship, to residency. Anything could happen. Life is not predicted, but as of now that is the plan, but I do have a lot of friends and family that are DACA recipients, like my sister and my niece. What is going to happen to them? We talked to my sister in regards to this, and she jokingly said, “Well, you can go back and visit me to Mexico” and I’m like don’t say that, that breaks my heart just thinking them having to go back because she was little, too. She was 12 years old, so she doesn’t know what life is back in our country. Not that we don’t like that life, not that we wouldn’t want to go back, it is just that we are accustomed to this life here in the U.S. and the big fear of going back to the shadows, and not being able to show your full potential and everything good we can bring as citizens to not just our community or Latino community, but to everyone in Omaha, in the U.S. in general, just showing everyone what we can bring. So we are kind of like on hold, and right now we’re in like limbo, because we do not know what is going to happen.

Would you like to share any additional insights?

I just really hope, and I do pray every night that there is a change, there has got to be a change. We have shown that we deserve this. We are not criminals, we are not here to do anything wrong, because of the requirements of that. You are supposed to have a clean record, if you do anything bad it is taken away from you. So we have shown that we are good citizens and that we deserve to stay here. That was the way that we had to prove that we can do it, that we can be what the government wants, that we can be those good citizens. I personally love animals, and I am an advocate of animals, and I love saving lives. I like to donate blood. I like to do everything that a good citizen should do for its own community, for its own country. So I just really, really pray that something is done, and we’re just hoping for the best.

David Isla Ramirez, 30

I was born in Morelos, Mexico. I am 30 years old, and right now I am doing health care processing for a living.

What does DACA mean to you?

DACA means hope. DACA means the chance to do what we came here for. I didn’t really have a chance, I didn’t really have the opportunity to choose either stay in Mexico or come to the U.S. My mom and dad got divorced, and the only choice was either my mom or dad. When my mom got divorced, she didn’t really have much, so she had the chance to come here, and my only decision was either stay with my dad or go with my mom. Really, with my dad, I didn’t have a really good relationship. He was working most of the time, so I didn’t really know much about my dad, so, of course, I had to choose my mom. DACA was a chance to become something that my mom was expecting for us, the future she was expecting for us. So it was a pick of hope for us to do something here in the U.S.

What does it mean to be a Dreamer in Omaha?

Being a Dreamer, for me, means [being] able to do, or able to move up in life. When I came to the U.S. I was able to go to high school. I had the chance to go to college, and after college, it was pretty much the end for me. After graduating from college and getting a bachelor’s degree in psychology, major, communications minor, I wasn’t able to move up because I had to be a legal resident in order for me to get any type of help; to either get a master’s or get a job, like the job I was going for. So, being a Dreamer means [being] able to move up to where I wanted to be. I hadthe chance to go from working in a restaurant to go and work on a desk. I was able to have a decent schedule now. I want to at least practice some of the things I went for and actually had to pay my college to get through it, so that’s what it means: it means able to move up, able to accomplish something, which I think that’s what we all came for.

How is Omaha part of your identity?

I will have to say Omaha is my home. I’ve been here for a while—16 years—went to high school and college, and I don’t really know any other place that I can say, “I know this place. This is my home.” I know where everything’s at. If I have a problem, I know where to go to. If something’s going on, I know the number to call. I know where to go, the people that can help me. That’s what you call home. Something like that. So, that’s what it means. It means Omaha is my home.

With the termination of DACA, what are your concerns about the future?

More than anything, I will have to say fear. I’m afraid of what’s gonna happen, you know, what’s next for us. Like I said before, this is my home. Right now, as many people know, there was an earthquake in Mexico. That’s where my dad’s house was—if there’s any left of what it was. My hometown, my childhood, that’s basically gone. The whole place is basically destroyed by the earthquake. Watching those videos, watching the news, made me think about what’s going to happen to me. Where am I going to end up going? If DACA ends I’m not really sure what’s going to be next for me, where, you know, everything I worked for, all the effort I put into—it’s pretty much done. That’s my only concern—what’s going to happen to us. I’m not the only one who worked really hard—I know other people can relate to my story and they say, “Yeah, we did work hard for this, and it’s pretty much gone.” And going back to a place where I haven’t been there since 16 years, watching the videos where there’s pretty much nothing left, if there’s something left out of the house, it’s not really something I can live in. Going back to my dad since after a long time, I talked to him on the phone which is not the same. He still sees me as a little kid. That’s how he left me; that’s the image that he’d get from me. So, that’s my fear.

Would you like to share any additional insights?

Like everybody else, I just really hope someone listens—our stories, and has a little bit of compassion to us, and at least help us. You know, if not something better, at least stay where we are. We’ve been good people, and we just need a chance.

Yanira Garcia, 28

I was born in Michoacán, Mexico, and I am a former DACA. As of March of this year, I became a legal permanent resident.

What does DACA mean to you?

DACA, to me, meant an opportunity to become a full human being in the American society or in the United States, here in Omaha, because before that I was just a person hiding in the shadows. Through DACA, I was able to do simple things like get a driver’s license and drive. Obviously once that was also available to our legislature, and then I’m also able—I was also able to work, I was also able to travel, simple things like that. But more importantly, I think I was able to feel a hundred percent part of this community, of this society, without having to be ashamed of not having the proper documentation or an ID. When you go to a bank or when you go to some important high-security place where you need to have documentation, there was a lot of things like that that I couldn’t do before that I was able to do once I got DACA.

What does it mean to be a Dreamer in Omaha?

It means being able to, again, be part of this thriving force. As I understand right now, there’s about 3000 of us here in Omaha and I keep saying us, because once a Dreamer, always a Dreamer, and I lived that experience, so I can still identify to DACA or Dreamers, even though I’m technically not one anymore. So it just means being able to be part of the community, it means being able to continue to dream, to continue to fulfil a goal, a dream, which is to get a higher education. That’s how it started, and then to go on to become professional something, right, to be a professional someone, and then to be able to live out that dream fearless and unashamed.

How is Omaha part of your identity?

Omaha has been my home for the past 20 years. I don’t know any other place other than Omaha; I mean, I was raised for the first eight to nine years of my life in Mexico, but that’s so long ago that it’s been longer the time that I’ve lived here in Omaha. To me, Omaha is my home and it’s part of who I am, everywhere I go. Omaha is what I refer to as home, and where all my childhood experiences and a dozen experiences and now young adult experiences are happening.

With the termination of DACA, what are your concerns about the future?

As a former DACA, personally it doesn’t really affect me because now I’m a legal permanent resident, but I still feel and I still hurt for all of my friends, all of my siblings, and family members. We all have cousins, or we all know somebody very closely that is still DACAmented. I’m still fighting the battle with them, I’m still standing with them, and it still breaks my heart. It still hurts to see our government hurt such a powerful and talented group of people, that all they want to do is live in this country like everybody else and fulfill a dream and contribute and give back financially, through volunteer work, through skills, through just…everything that we’ve learned, and so, it’s dis-encouraging, but at the same time, it kind of reminds me that we started this battle long ago, and if we need to keep fighting, we’re gonna have to do that.

Would you like to share any additional insights?

I’d just like to share with whoever is watching this video that I want them to know and support Dreamers, to if they have any questions, to reach out to all the local nonprofits and all the local groups that are advocating for the dream to continue, or for DACA to continue, and even the better dream now would be for DACA to stop being an executive action or an executive order and become a law, something that can be permanent, so that people can stop fearing, so that this uncertainty can just stop, and for all these 800,000 DACAmented people in the nation right now can just step completely out of the shadows and live a completely fearless life and integrate a hundred percent into their American dream.

Armando Becerril, 24

I was originally born in Mexico City, and I am currently a DACA recipient.

What does DACA mean to you?

DACA seriously means everything. It’s provided me the opportunity to go to college, start my career with an accounting firm, and just develop as an American more than anything. At the end of the day, we’re not U.S. citizens on paper, but we’ve lived in American communities our entire lives, so it has really allowed me to step out of the shadows and contribute as a full American, as we consider to be a citizen.

What does it mean to be a Dreamer in Omaha?

It means that I’ve been given a different status, legal status, by immigration, but I feel like it hasn’t really hindered me. Yeah, there are some areas where we don’t have full rights, like we can’t leave the country and a few other situations that are similar to that, but other than that, we’re just Omaha folks, just living day to day, going to school, going to work, buying groceries, going to baseball games, College World Series, Creighton basketball games. So, you know, they tried to put this label on us, but at the end of the day, I just feel like we’re just like me and you, we’re doing the same things on a day-to-day basis, so, even though it has provided that different status for us, it is a blessing, I still feel like I’m an integral and I’ve integrated into the Omaha community.

How is Omaha part of your identity?

Well, Omaha’s part of my identity because it’s where I started my career. Just, almost a year ago, and so it’s shaped me, and it’s helped me develop as a professional and as an overall better human being, because that’s added that responsibility of what I have to deliver to the client, to myself, to my firm. So just in that aspect it’s made me also grow, not just professionally, but personally because I’ve had it be on my own in a city a hundred miles away from where my mom’s at, so it’s really helped me develop, and will continue to help me develop in a positive direction.

With the termination of DACA, what are your concerns about the future?

My main concern is that there’s so much uncertainty. There’s a lot of rhetoric going around of which way DACA will go, if the DREAM Act will be passed, if some variation of the DREAM Act will be passed, if it will be attached to border security or just some other economic-related budget or bill. So it’s tough to really have an exact feeling, because one day they say, “oh, it’s going in the right direction, we’ve had talks with the GOP and the Trump Administration,” and the next day it’s like “oh, now we’re looking at this, we’re looking to revise the bill,” x y z, and so it’s pretty hard, because like I said, there’s so much uncertainty that we’re trying to figure our lives out day by day while at the same time trying to live with this huge level of uncertainty.

Would you like to share any additional insights?

Just for anyone that watches this to understand our situation. It’s a very unique, particular situation, and more than anything—we have a lot of support; for example, I’ve recently read that Tim Cook is saying that DACA is one of the most important issues of our time. And I can attest to that because we contribute economically, socially; any way that you think about it, we’re contributing. Since DACA passed, our wages and salaries have increased from an average of 20,000 to roughly 35,000 or so. And that’s a huge impact, because that’s, for the fiscal conservatives, that adds tax revenue to every state, municipality, and the federal government as well. We’re working hard. We don’t get any federal financial aid from the government. We work through school, and we don’t receive any benefits, like welfare, Medicaid, any of that sort of—because we don’t qualify, so when people maybe think of, “oh, you know they’re here maybe just leeching and taking U.S. citizens’ benefits,” I just want to tell them to please do their research, because it’s nothing like that. We’re just here, working hard, and all we’re asking for is an opportunity to continue to be blessed in the greatest country in the world.

Daniela Rojas, 24

Hi, my name is Daniela Rojas, and I am originally from Colombia. I work as an admissions counselor at the College of St. Mary, and I have been here in Omaha since 2007—so about 10 years.

What is your immigration status?

I was very fortunate to meet somebody who, at the time, had the opportunity to become a citizen. So when we met he was a resident. We didn’t know if he was going to be able to become a citizen. And very, very fortunately, he was able to. So, because I became immediate family to him, we were able to apply for me to become a U.S. resident. So, right now I am a resident.

What does DACA mean to you?

For me, DACA means having an opportunity to have a voice. A lot of the people who have DACA currently didn’t have a chance to speak up in the past when their parents brought them here when they were very young, and for me DACA is that opportunity for young people to have their voice heard, to have their opinions and their dreams heard, and be able to be successful, and be able to contribute to our community. That’s what DACA means to me.

What does it mean to be a Dreamer in Omaha?

Being a Dreamer is wanting more than what you were initially given. Being a Dreamer means to stand up for yourself and know that your voice is going to be heard. Being a Dreamer means having an opportunity and a chance to have a life worth living, just like anybody else. Personally, I think people who are Dreamers deserve a chance more than anyone else. Because, basically, I think people who are Dreamers have a better opportunity and a bigger chance and deserve that opportunity more than others, because their childhood had been basically arranged from the very beginning. Being a Dreamer, for me, is being able to be an asset to our community, to be somebody worth putting trust in, and I think that’s what these Dreamers want. They just want trust. They want to be able to contribute, to work, to be someone in our community.

How is Omaha part of your identity?

I often talk to my parents about this. I think I am more American, I am more of an Omahan, now than I have ever been. I grew up here, my beliefs, my character, who I am as a person, my whole teenage years were here. There are a lot of customs in Colombia that I am no longer familiar with. I am an Omahan. I am part of the city, and I want to see it succeed. I think that part of that comes with all the dreams that these people have of contributing to our city, contributing to our surrounding towns, not just Omaha. So, I personally think if I were to go back to Colombia and start my life over there I don’t even know where to begin. I am completely, 100 percent, an Omahan. I have Colombian roots, but what I believe, where I live, and what I do for a living is to better this community here.

With termination of DACA, what are your concerns about the future?

I’m actually not a DACA recipient, I was never granted that opportunity. When I applied for DACA, the decision came back saying that I had arrived to the U.S. too late. So, basically there was a cutoff date, I believe it was June of 2007, and I got here in October of 2007. So, I met the criteria, I had a 4.0, I was an excellent student, I volunteered in everything I could do, but because of those few months, I was not able to get DACA. So, for me, hearing that this opportunity is getting taken away to others, I know what that heartbreak feels like. I know what the discouragement feels like. For me, it is a lack of moral responsibility from President Donald Trump. I think his lack of initiative to fix this issue and his lack of commitment to our community is clearer than ever. The lack of commitment he has for our young immigrants is going to have huge repercussions to Omaha, to our whole country. I was never able to get DACA. I was never able to have had that opportunity given to me as a young adult. So, for me, it is that idea of dreams getting crushed, people losing hope, of young people getting discouraged and turning to other things, that hopefully they don’t have to. Something needs to get done.

Would you like to share any additional insights?

I hope that our representatives take the time to take a stand. They have a moral obligation to our community, to our young people, and I feel like there is just so much room for the city to improve, there is so much room for us to grow as a whole, as a community, and it is up to them now to make that choice. Whether or not they are standing with immigration reform or not, this is people’s lives, this is people’s future, this is our future as a community, and I personally feel there is so much they can do, but they just need to take a stand and say whether they want to help or whether they want to see this city crumble. This city was built by immigrants. It was built on land that is not anybody’s but Native Americans, so it is only right for them to do what is morally correct.

Learn more about what it means to be an undocumented youth growing up in Omaha from the November/December 2017 issue of Omaha Magazine.

Asterisks (*) designate pseudonyms. Portrait subjects photographed for this article were approached by Omaha Magazine independently from the research conducted by professor Thomas Sanchez. These current, former, and would-be DACA recipients consider Omaha to be their home; they volunteered to share their stories and thoughts about the termination of DACA.

Driving through rural Nebraska, I noticed the battery gauge dropping slowly toward zero. Soon after turning from Highway 30 onto Highway 15, the engine stopped. I pulled to the side of the road. Thinking about my options, I looked in the rearview mirror and saw a sign that read “Batteries for Sale.” I scurried the quarter mile to the farmhouse and knocked on the door. An elderly gentleman answered, and we quickly proceeded to a barn filled with hay. There was an array of car batteries arranged on shelves; I chose the cheapest. We got into his pickup, drove to my car, and installed the battery. Then I drove back to the farmhouse to pay.

“Omaha is my home. I’ve been here for a while–16 years–went to high school and college, and I don’t really know any other place that I can say, ‘I know this place.’ This is my home. I know were everything is at. I fI have a problem, I know where to go to…I’m afraid of what’s going to happen. What’s next for us?” –David Islas Ramirez, 30, Works in the health care industry (Originally from Mexico, Isla is a current DACA recipient, a graduate of Benson High School and Bellevue University.)

When he looked at my check, he said, “Sanchez, you speak pretty good English.” I thought to myself, “Here we go,” but answered calmly, “I better speak pretty good English, it’s the only language I speak” (which was not completely true. I grew up speaking only English and, like many third-generation U.S. citizens, learned Spanish in college). He replied, “No, I know you speak good English, but where are you from?” I answered, “I am from Scottsbluff, way out in the western part of the state.” He said, “No, but where were you born?” I said, “I was born in Scottsbluff.” He persisted, “But where was your father born?” I replied, “My father was born in Texas.” He followed up with, “Where was his father born?” and I answered, “My grandfather was from Mexico.” He did not say anything but he gave me a sigh of satisfaction as if to say, “See, I knew you were from somewhere else.”

I am a light-skinned Mexican-American with a Ph.D. who speaks English with no hint of a Spanish accent. I was born and raised in the middle of the United States. I am also a tenured associate professor at the University of Nebraska-Omaha. I am the quintessential “American,” but personal experiences have demonstrated to me that many in the United States think Latinos are qualitatively different from them—that Latinos are “from somewhere else.” I do not have an immigrant experience, and I do not pretend to understand the immigrant identity. But my light skin color coupled with my upbringing in the Mexican barrio of southeast Scottsbluff has always made me fascinated with issues of ethnic and cultural identity, issues I teach about in all my classes (especially “Race and Ethnicity” for the Sociology department and others in Latino Studies).

My personal and professional interest in identity made me wonder: how do young people, who are “American” in every aspect except legal, negotiate and deal with their identity? How do they make sense of their lives when their personal history and the vast majority of their experiences have taken place in and around Omaha, Nebraska, yet the governmental authorities and the media present them as foreigners?

“DACA, to me, meant an opportunity to become a full human being in the American society…because before that, I was just a person hiding in the shadows. Through DACA, I was able to do simple things like get a drivers license and drive–obviously, once that was also available through our legislature.”–Yanira Garcia, 28, (Originally from Mexico, Garcia is a former DACA recipient who became legal U.S. permanent resident in March)

Throughout my career, most of my research has been conducted with immigrant communities in Nebraska. But my poor Spanish always made it difficult to conduct interviews (much of the consternation was mine, being embarrassed at how bad my Spanish is at times). Interviewing recipients of Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (a federal program created by President Barack Obama’s executive memorandum in 2012) offered relief from my occasional language hiccups. Nebraska has about 3,000 recipients, and there are approximately 800,000 nationwide.

The catalyst for my DACA research was an announcement at a faculty meeting of the Office of Latino and Latin American Studies at UNO; private scholarship money was being designated for DACA recipients. I immediately thought that I could continue my research on “immigrants” without worrying about my inability to communicate well because most DACA recipients are in college (71.5 percent of them), and to get into college one must speak, read, and write English. A new research avenue was born.

The following semester, I was readying my application for a faculty development fellowship (formerly referred to as a sabbatical) from the College of Arts and Sciences. A colleague suggested that I get a letter of support from potential interview subjects. It was late on a Friday afternoon, but I called the Heartland Workers Center and was referred to the Young Nebraskans in Action (previously known as the Dreamers Project Coalition). The next week I met with two leaders of the group. Each agreed to write a letter of support to the dean of the College of Arts and Sciences.

“I actually had made a deal with my mom and said, ‘Well, we’re only going to go there for six months, because I didn’t want to come. I was so little. I really didn’t understand the situation or why she was making the decision. So , she agreed to six months, and now it’s going to be 18 years.”–Luisa Trujillo Estrada, 28, CHI Heal Human Resources staffer (Originally from Mexico, Trujillo is current DACA recipient engaged to a U.S. citizen).

My DACA interviews began with three in December 2015. I conducted seven more interviews in January 2017 after receiving the fellowship. All of my interview subjects were born in Latin America: seven in Mexico, two in Guatemala, and one in El Salvador. At the time of their interviews, the ages of these DACA recipients ranged from 19 to 26. Although not born in Omaha, they were all raised here or in surrounding areas. Nearly all speak English perfectly (without any trace of accent). At the time of the interviews, nine were enrolled in college and receiving above-average marks in their coursework. One had recently graduated. None of them have criminal records.

The following notes and excerpts from my 2015 and 2017 interviews provide a glimpse at the reality of DACA recipients’ existence in Nebraska using their own stories, their own words.

Each of the 10 interviewees articulated a profound love and appreciation for what the United States and Omaha have allowed them to do, the opportunities that the education system has allowed them to pursue. Most of them expressed the view that— if forced to leave their adopted city and country—they are not afraid of returning to their country of birth or to take their talents elsewhere in the world.

Of the 10 DACA recipients interviewed, many of them were politically active and know that being prohibited from voting does not take away their constitutional rights to engage in political activities. A couple of them were timid individuals and specifically stated that agreeing to be interviewed was a political act. One admitted to being shy, saying that their condition of being in the U.S. without authorization made them eschew attention and want to blend in with others around them.

In many ways, the experiences of the Nebraska DACA recipients I interviewed are similar to what academic and other research has revealed to be experiences nationwide.

Lourdes* came to Omaha when she was 6 years old. Now a community organizer in her mid-20s, she had this to say when asked which country she belongs to: “I tell people that my blood is Mexican, but my heart is American, because the two work with each other and they would not be able to exist without one another. So, that’s the best way that I can answer that question, just because, like I said, I was raised in the U.S., with U.S. principles and morals, but my culture is Mexicana and they work together to create who I am.”

All 10 of my DACA sources speak English and Spanish. Each speaks English well, and only one did not speak Spanish well. Most of them speak Spanish with parents and elder family members but English with others, including younger siblings. Only one of the sources claimed their parents could speak English well.

“When people [say], “Oh, you know they’re here just leeching and taking U.S. citizens’ benefits,” I just want to tell them that. We’re just here working hard, and all we’re asking for is an opportunity to continue to be blessed in the greatest country in the world.”–Armando Becerril, 24, Audit associate at KPMG (Becerril is originally from Mexico).

They have internalized the Nebraskan and Midwestern culture, especially in terms of work ethic. Not only driven by the work ethic of those around them, they felt obligated to prove (to themselves, to family and friends, and to society at large) that they will be successful. They work hard at jobs, school, and in their community. While they all claimed cultural connections to their country of birth, their inability to travel outside the United States makes those connections appear to be mostly imagined. They are connected culturally in ways that a second- or third-generation Mexican-American might be connected to their ancestors’ nation of origin. Their “Latino” culture is largely a U.S. Latino culture.

The vast majority of their personal experiences have been positive in Nebraska. Aracely* says: “In one of my classes in high school, I was told that Nebraska was one of the most racist states in the United States, and I thought that was pretty funny because I myself never really…saw myself being discriminated against for being Latino or for having Hispanic descent; however, when I found out that Nebraska was the only state left that didn’t give drivers’ licenses to DACA students…I realized that there’s just, like, so much indirect racism.”

All of the interviewees shared a positive image of Omaha, and almost all of the sources had mixed feelings about the conservative politics of the state. Nelson* (who says he migrated from El Salvador when he was “1 year old, maybe less”) was active in getting legislation passed such as LB 623 (which gave them the opportunity to get a driver’s license).

“I know there are a lot of Republican senators who really care about us, but then I believe everything is just politics,” Nelson says. “Maybe they do care about us. But their constituents, they’re very hard-line anti-immigration, and because of that we’re not getting the support that we really deserve in the government. But, in that sense, I understand. But then again, I don’t think the Democrats are doing enough for us either, and so it’s really difficult, and right now I just have a very negative attitude about what the government is doing for immigrants, especially with the rhetoric that Donald Trump has been spewing all throughout his campaign and continues to do so. It just makes things worse [for everybody] and it doesn’t do anything for immigrants.”

Interviewees reported few, if any, incidents of discrimination or overt prejudice in their everyday experiences in Omaha; however, several of them shared anecdotes of close friends—citizens who happened to be darker-skinned Latinos—having more overt discriminatory experiences than they as DACA recipients did.

Some of the 10 DACA recipients had arrived in the United States a bit later in life and always knew they were not authorized to be here (the age of arrival ranges from 10 years to three months with the average being 5 years old); others had no idea of their undocumented status until later in life.

Interview subjects mentioned “shame” when discussing their parent’s feelings about being in the United States without authorization and “stigma” when discussing their own feelings; the same words were used by Leisy Abrego (a University of California-Los Angeles professor who was herself part of the wave of Salvadorian immigration to L.A. in the early 1980s) in her groundbreaking research on DACA recipients in California.

“There are a lot of customs in Colombia that I am no longer familiar with. I am an Omahan. I am part of the city, and I want to see it succeed…If I were to go back to Colombia and start my life over there. I don’t even know where to begin.”–Daniela Roja, 24, Admissions counselor at College of Saint Mary (Rojas applied for DACA and was rejected due to her U.S. arrival date. She has lived in Omaha for 10 years and is now a legal resident.)

Some did not find out they were unauthorized—or they did not realize how it would affect them—until their junior or senior year in high school, when they began to fill out college and scholarship applications and were asked for a social security number.

All of them learned of the severity of what it really meant to be unauthorized when they could not get a driver’s license, even after they received DACA. All feel, to one degree or another, they missed out on that and other rituals associated with being a kid or “growing up.”

As young children and teenagers, they were unaware of the consequences: both the social stigma and the legal pitfalls. They had been protected from the vagaries of their undocumented legal status—by teachers, counselors, churches, and other well-meaning adults and institutions.

Many of my interview subjects used terms like “coming out” for disclosing their unauthorized status. The phrasing seems to contradict previous assertions of “no shame.” But it could be that their general feelings simply changed from when they were younger and they did not see the effects as readily. As they grew older, the negative consequences of the same undocumented status became more acute and meaningful in their lives. The driver’s license issue is just one glaring example (one for which Nebraska gained notoriety in nationwide immigrant advocate and anti-immigration circles).

Due to a fear of immigration and law enforcement authorities, none of the people I interviewed had traveled much, if at all, outside the Omaha area. Some of them had been to Lincoln (on recruitment visits to UNL) and a few had traveled once or twice to Iowa or Wisconsin to visit family. Many admit that they love Omaha, they love Nebraska (even though they had not been anywhere in Nebraska outside of Omaha), and that they desire and plan to stay in the Midwest region of the country. Most want to stay in Nebraska and/or the Midwest in order to pay back those communities for the opportunities that they have been able to access.

In terms of social connections, about half of the interview subjects reported having mostly white friends or friends who are a mix of different races and ethnicities; the other half have friends who are mostly Latino. More than one of them mentioned the difficulty of meeting new people, especially in the romantic realm, and not knowing what or when to tell them about their immigration status. One respondent stated that they were afraid to tell a new dating partner about their status for fear that the other person would wonder if they were just dating them so they could marry and get their immigration papers fixed. Another spoke of being in a long-term relationship with a person who still does not know that they do not have government authorization to be in the United States.

When I began these interviews, I was interested in the question of criminalization. How did undocumented youths see their own “criminalization” in light of what labels have been placed upon them by some elements of society?

The research question turned out to be of little concern to my sources, with eight respondents emphatically stating “no” when asked whether or not they felt like criminals. Two others were not sure or had felt like criminals at some point in their life but changed their mind as they had matured. Almost all had mixed family statuses with little brothers and sisters who were citizens and parents who were unauthorized. At least two had fathers who had been deported.

Although born in foreign countries, their hearts and souls are firmly rooted in the United States, a country that officially rejects but tolerates them. Lourdes, the community organizer, says: “I do plan on staying in Nebraska…my skin and bones are still getting used to this weather, but beyond that, absolutely. I love Nebraska, and the fact that we are helping change the political landscape and [making] it be a place that welcomes is very enriching, and I’m beyond glad that I’m able to be a part of that with dedicated individuals. So as hard as it is knowing that we are going to be at the forefront of what’s happening and the change for our future families and friends… It’s of course [worth it]…and I love Nebraska and Omaha in general…I don’t ever take for granted what I do. And I feel like that journey wouldn’t have been possible had I not had the [immigration] status that I did. So it just enables me, helps me appreciate and really understand the significance of what I’m doing for myself and for my community.”

I came away from the interviews with a sense of awe.

As I interviewed each of the 10 young people, I had the sense that each person will not only be successful; they will be high-achieving contributors to the nation’s society and economy. Rather than being afraid for themselves, their worries overwhelmingly focused on the future well-being of their parents, siblings, friends, other family members, and people in situations like theirs who may have not had the tools, skills, or maybe just the proper connections to navigate the educational system.

I often wonder why anti-immigration advocates seem determined to cast out those who would otherwise be helping to pay for Social Security. In the end, it is not about their contributions to the economy, it is about what kind of society we choose for ourselves and the people we welcome into that society.

This article was printed in the November/December edition of Omaha Magazine.

“Chuck Hagel supported the war. His brother hated it. And in the jungles of Vietnam each was destined to save the other’s life.” The text blurb appears on the front cover of a new book by Daniel P. Bolger, Our Year of War: Two Brothers, Vietnam, and a Nation Divided.

An advance copy arrived in the mail while Omaha Magazine was deep in production on our November/December issue. A note from the publishing house explained that the book would be published on Nov. 7, in time for Veterans Day (Nov. 11).

Veterans Day was also the motivation for several military and veteran-themed stories in the full city edition of our latest issue. One of those stories is an artist profile about one of the Hagel brothers. But we didn’t write about the two highlighted in Bolger’s new book.

In 1968, Tom and Chuck Hagel fought the Tet Offensive, battled snipers in Saigon, and chased the enemy through the jungle. Years later, Tom became a law professor at the University of Dayton in Ohio. Chuck went on to represent Nebraska in the U.S. Senate for 12 years before serving as U.S. Defense Secretary from 2013 until 2015 under President Barrack Obama.

Their younger brother, Mike Hagel, was too young to serve in Vietnam. He would grow up to be a successful artist working in advertising and fine art. A portrait that he painted of his older brother now hangs in the Pentagon in Washington, D.C. Our latest issue features Mike’s story, titled “Nebraska’s Painter in the Pentagon.”

Another military-focused article about local art is the story of the New Century Art Guild. The nonprofit is dedicated to helping veterans cope with post-traumatic stress disorder through artwork. The guild has a gallery displaying artworks at City Hall, organizes veteran art exhibitions around town, and also hosts workshops and classes. Twice a month, they even offer art classes to incarcerated vets suffering from PTSD.

Joyce Winfield, Ph.D., writes about the philanthropic work of Bill and Evonne Williams. The Williamses coordinated 11 honor flights from Nebraska (taking 3,235 veterans to the nation’s capital), culminating in The Final Mission. Joyce had previously written the cover story of Omaha Magazine’sMay/June issue (excerpted from her book, Forever Heroes: A Collection of World War II Stories from Nebraska Veterans). Her husband, Doug, served in Vietnam and participated in The Final Mission. Her in-depth article in this issue explores the trip from the vantage of other Omaha-area Vietnam vets, and she explains the next phase of the Williamses’ efforts to memorialize members of the U.S. Armed Forces who sacrificed their lives in the years and wars following the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001.

Aside from these military stories, the November/December issue’s other major article addresses Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals from the perspective of the local youths. University of Nebraska-Omaha professor Thomas Sanchez, Ph.D., interviewed 10 anonymous DACA recipients, and Omaha Magazine reached out to five additional current, former, and would-be DACA recipients (who volunteered to support the story with their faces, names, and video interviews).

The story of DACA recipients relates back to Chuck Hagel’s time in the U.S. Senate. He was the first Republican co-sponsor of the DREAM Act, a bipartisan bill that addressed the status of undocumented youths who grew up in the U.S. (aka “dreamers”). The DREAM Act never became law, which led to the policy of “deferred action” under Obama, and current uncertainty facing the youths in the wake of President Donald Trump’s announcement to terminate DACA.

This letter was printed in the November/December edition of Omaha Magazine.